


Your Lips Move When You Read

by LadySilviana



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Pining, Reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 03:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12380400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilviana/pseuds/LadySilviana
Summary: His lips moved when he read. The movement was subtle yet noticeable and something about it made Eliot’s heart skip a beat. Entranced, he could not look away. At times, Quentin would bite his bottom lip in thought; or frown; or smile and laugh a little. His mouth, ever so expressive, would shape softly and silently around a word; stretch through a consonant and wrap around an invisible vowel. These movements weren’t hurried, but rather slow and precise, as though Quentin was drawing the flavour out of every phrase the way a wine connoisseur would taste an exquisite vintage. His mouth was savouring the tale, and Eliot couldn’t help but think of how much he wanted to be told the story.





	Your Lips Move When You Read

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part - in the Trials episode- where Eliot tells Q that his lips move when he reads. This is the back story for that.
> 
> (I don't own the Magicians, etc, etc).

Sometimes Eliot liked it better when it was dark and quiet at the Cottage.

Not like he would ever admit that to anyone, of course.

But late on those rare weekdays when there wasn’t a party and the common area was largely deserted, the place had a certain quaint feel about it. The kind of feel that made you want to grab that old favourite book from your shelf and lie snuggled on a couch, propped up on too many cushions, fingers brushing idly through well remembered pages.

It was just that kind of night- a night for slowly nursing a good Kentucky bourbon in a snifter without the pressure to chug it down. A night for letting your cigarette rest loosely between two fingers while you half drifted in and out of consciousness, the printed words within the bound volume on your lap focusing and unfocusing accordingly in the dim half-light.

Yes, it was just that kind of night.

Eliot forced himself to come back to reality when he noticed the buildup of ash on his cigarette had gotten so long it was in danger of falling off and smudging his pants. Moving his wrist carefully as to not disturb the ash prematurely, Eliot reached over to tap it out on a nearby glass ashtray, replacing the remnant of his cigarette back into his mouth. He let it hang between his lips, vaguely considering the book on his lap for another moment before shutting it and setting it down on the table beside the couch where he reclined.

A movement caught his eye and, finally giving in to temptation, Eliot looked over to the one spot he had avoided looking at for the past hour.

On a window seat across from his couch sat Quentin, the only other person in the room besides Eliot.

Quentin sat with his legs crossed, one arm resting on a knee and propping up his head while the other hand leafed through a worn out novel. His hair, as always, fell forward to cover a part of his face, the dimness of the room accentuating it in deeper shadow. Eliot smiled to see just how engrossed the other man was in his reading, how absolutely oblivious to his gaze.

And to think he had been trying not to watch him this whole time, afraid that what was in his eyes would be so painfully obvious. It didn’t even matter- Quentin didn’t look up from his book.

His lips moved when he read. The movement was subtle yet noticeable and something about it made Eliot’s heart skip a beat. Entranced, he could not look away. At times, Quentin would bite his bottom lip in thought; or frown; or smile and laugh a little. His mouth, ever so expressive, would shape softly and silently around a word; stretch through a consonant and wrap around an invisible vowel. These movements weren’t hurried, but rather slow and precise, as though Quentin was drawing the flavour out of every phrase the way a wine connoisseur would taste an exquisite vintage. His mouth was savouring the tale, and Eliot couldn’t help but think of how much he wanted to be told the story.

He must have been watching Quentin read for a while, not really caring to conceal his gaze anymore, because all of a sudden the other man’s lips stopped. His brown eyes came up and rested on Eliot.

“Ummm… is there like, something on my face?” Quentin brought up his hand to rub at his mouth self-consciously and Eliot almost laughed.

“No, there is nothing on your face, Q,” the older student smiled reassuringly at Quentin, knowing all the while that the smile was too intimate, too revealing. “It’s just that… your lips move when you read.”

“Oh!” Quentin blushed slightly, “Shit, yeah. I have been told that before. I forget that I do that sometimes. I am sorry if it was annoying. I’ll stop.”

“It’s not annoying, no,” Eliot said this very seriously and shook his head for emphasis. Was it possible to say _I can watch you read all night_ without sounding like a besotted fool? “I was… trying to read your lips and figure out what you were reading.” Eliot almost winced at how lame that sounded to him.

“It’s the Return of the King,” Quentin held up the copy of the tattered book.

“Really? I’m surprised it’s not-”

“Fillory?” Quentin laughed. “I do read other books you know. Tolkien is a favourite.”

“Don’t tell anyone this,” Eliot whispered conspiratorially, leaning over to rest his forearms on his knees, “But he’s a favourite of mine too.”

They shared a chuckle over this fact.

“Don’t worry, El. I won’t out you as a nerd.”

“You better not, or I will have to kick your ass.”

A long silence followed and Eliot felt suddenly awkward, long fingers fidgeting with the now empty snifter. He was usually very direct in his approach when he was interested in someone, but he had to admit he often felt at a loss when it came to flirting with Quentin. Perhaps it was that annoying fluttery sensation he got when looking at the man…

“Hey, El,” Quentin was the one that broke the silence, for which Eliot was quietly thankful. “I could read out loud for a bit- I mean, if you wanted me to.”

“Yes, Q. I think I would like that a lot,” Eliot said earnestly, a tender look in his eyes.

Quentin grinned back at him, excitement flushing across his face as he brushed back hair from his face and repositioned the book in his lap. They both knew how relevant this was- to dive headfirst into a world of fantasy together; to share between them a soliloquy of prose. It was an enchantment all its own- one known to all the fervent lovers of books and things beautiful and arcane.

“Wait a second, let me get comfortable,” Eliot repositioned himself on his mound of pillows, tucking his hands behind his head. He shut his eyes partially, eyelids open just enough to let him watch Quentin’s lips as he read out loud to him, determined not to miss a second of it.

“Ok. I’m ready.”


End file.
